My True Love
by thestairwell
Summary: 24 short drabbles leading up to Christmas Day. Canon compliant, probably not Christmas-related, anywhere between 100 and 300 words, and with enough melancholic fluff to (hopefully!) leave you smiling whatever your beliefs this time of year.
1. artist

For eight years, Blaine sings because his big brother does. He enjoys singing, for sure, but he prefers finger painting and playing the piano. Mostly because Cooper doesn't like getting messy and he doesn't even know which key is middle C.

His masterpieces stop going up on the fridge when he turns seven, and so he starts collecting them in loose leaf notebooks instead. After Cooper leaves home, he regularly arranges galleries for his parents in the dining room. They 'ooh' and 'ah', until gradually they're too busy to even attend dinner every night.

And gradually, Blaine stops collecting his own drawings, and starts collecting pictures of attractive men in various states of undress (though never naked) and printing out positive It Gets Better stories.

Thanksgiving is saturated with various forms of "I bet you break all the girls' hearts!" and "Got a girlfriend yet, eh, kid?"

Blaine's mouth gives away nothing of his heart's crying.

When he comes out six months later, he surprises everyone.

Blaine's wrist gets broken, and he misses the piano more than he thought possible. He blasts P!nk and writes angry poetry until he starts at a zero-tolerance boarding school the next fall.

The poetry is terrible.

At Dalton, Blaine rediscovers music. It feels like freedom.

At Dalton, Blaine finds Kurt. It feels like being reborn.

Sometimes, Sam ropes Blaine into making macaroni art. Occasionally, Blaine makes scrapbooks, and occasionally, Kurt helps. Often, Blaine breathes music.

Always, Blaine tries to make Kurt smile.

Blaine can be anything on the stage. Loud or quiet, strong or weak, sly or charming. He gets standing ovations and star reviews. But waiting in his dressing room is a bouquet of roses, always signed, _With love_. And that is when he shines.


	2. belong

"One day, you'll all work for me," Kurt tells his bullies, and they throw him in the dumpster.

"Instead of posting an anonymous comment online, say what you have to say to me to my face," he snaps, and then a bully throws a cherry slushy on him and Jacob ben Israel catches it on camera.

Finn smiles at him, and seven months later Finn smashes up his room. But no one's perfect.

Kurt feels like a seahorse in a goldfish pond. Different, helpless to being pushed around, stagnant in the current-less water, untouched.

The second time around, the joining of two families actually works out. His home remains the oasis in the harsh, endless outside world.

Blaine's hand is warm and smooth and strong; his voice is cashmere and comfort; his eyes are soft, and as bright as the North star on an empty ocean. His lips are the cool, sweet spring after a lifetime of aridity, and Kurt drinks deep.

When he moves to New York, everything falls into place.

Almost.

Blaine steps through the metal door, smile so wide that Kurt can barely even see his eyes shining. His hair is coming loose and sticking to his forehead and curling on top, sweaty from moving so many boxes. Rachel and Santana are out shopping for the welcome party.

Kurt curls his fingers around Blaine's, pulls him close, and kisses him.


	3. consume

They call New York the Big Apple.

Kurt gets a taste of it when he visits during his junior year. It's bright and free and beautiful, and everything he's ever imagined and more.

They break out the hotel room and go exploring. At first, they stick together as a group, but as the day runs its course they split off into couples and triples because outside of Central Park, there is very little they can all agree on seeing.

Kurt goes with Tina and a complacent Mike to the Garment District, and walks away rolling his eyes when they start making out in the middle of the street.

He calls Blaine.

"Has the city kidnapped you yet?" his boyfriend teases.

"Absolutely." Kurt's eyes roam the facades and faces around him, drinking in every intricate detail. Everything sparkles.

"I'm coming back here one day," he confides in a low voice. "I don't care how long it takes me."

"I know," Blaine says. "Can I come, too?"

Kurt's breath catches, he loves this boy so much and he always will, and he can't wait to tell him.

"I'm sure I can find a big enough suitcase," he says, and drinks in Blaine's laugh as the city bustles around him.

Atop the Empire State Building, Kurt has his fiancé on one side and the polluted sky on the other. The city is lit up, the beacon that beckoned to Kurt for his entire life, so far below them that Kurt could step out and become a star himself.

"I can see our house from here," Blaine murmurs against his shoulder, and Kurt laughs.

"I can see my office from here," he corrects, "our house is in Brooklyn."

They call New York the Big Apple. It takes in Kurt instead.


End file.
